


Fiction

by OldGreggGroupie



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Cosette And Enjolras Are Siblings, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Miscommunication, background valvert and marisette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24028204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldGreggGroupie/pseuds/OldGreggGroupie
Summary: Enjolras needs a date to ride the subtle line between impressing his parents and pissing off his extended family. He chooses Grantaire.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 129
Collections: Les Mis Big Bang: Quarantine Edition





	Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to the very nice person I roleplayed this with who said “you should consider turning this into a fic because your writing is great and your sense of the characters are really strong!”, as well as someone who said literally almost the exact same thing to me a week before I started writing this at first! As well as, of course, my lovely friend and platonic soulmate @sxulpix who very markedly does not like Les Mis and still read over this for me lmao

Enjolras had vetoed seven road trip playlists over the past two weeks. Considering the two he had approved would only last a little more than three hours, only half of the way there, Grantaire’s success rate was looking grim. 

He was a man that was skilled at many things. He was a profound orator, an absolute genius, could truly become one of the best and most successful minds of this century… and he could not drive. He could technically drive, and he was licensed to do so, but that didn’t mean he had ever succeeded. It had gotten to the point where, when the rest of the higher-ranked Amis had gotten licensed to drive vans to help transport people to protests, he had been held back. The cause had greater needs, they had said, and Enjolras didn’t need to prove anything by crashing the poor driving instructor’s van. While they mainly took public transportation, any time a car was necessary… no one in their right mind would be caught dead in a car with Enjolras, for fear that they actually might die.

And so, when Grantaire cranked the music volume above Enjolras’ gentle recommendation, not noticing when Enjolras lowered it again from the steering wheel, he could only wonder how the older man had ended up in his first car in the first place. He hadn’t really thought the request would get him anywhere other than an awkward phone call from his parents, but when Grantaire launched into his thousandth story about any miscellaneous song on the playlist, something strange had clenched in the pit of Enjolras’ stomach. 

*

_“I have a request.”_

_Grantaire looked up at Enjolras over his coffee mug, making no move to speak until he had finished his sip. “I admire your commitment to the cause, my dear friend, but I’m afraid a simple text message would have sufficed.” He let out an affirmative little hum, the mug clicking against the table as he set it down. “Hey, Grantaire, how are those fliers going? Oh, actually, R, I had a bit of a different image in my mind, but I can still sketch it out on a piece of paper and send you a photo. Oh, ‘taire, if that’s not enough, I can call you on the phone, not make you go out of your way to--”_

_“It’s not about anything for the Amis,” Enjolras said lowly, plowing through the rest of Grantaire’s thought. “I’m afraid it’s a more personal request.” Enjolras had expected it, but he still shifted in his seat a little when Grantaire’s interest piqued, and the other man’s eyes had settled upon his own._

_“Color me impressed, Apollo. I don’t think you’ve asked anything of me before, and you’ve known me, hmm, two years now?”_

_“Of course I have,” he defended quickly, before shaking that and any other thoughts out of his head. Grantaire was just dramatic. Maybe in the first year or so of knowing each other, sure, but they had gotten closer and closer over the years. “Do you celebrate the holidays with your family? Christmas, Hanukkah?”_

_“I don’t see how that’s related to anything.”_

_“Just--answer, please?”_

_Grantaire sat back a little in his chair, nodding his head for just a moment before continuing on. “I mean, not really? We celebrated Hanukkah more when I was a kid, but it’s always been something that’s more for the kids, probably, and isn’t that important in the grand scheme of anything. Not even one of the more significant holidays, it’s just near Christmas. I usually just spend most of December with my cat, or with any friends that skip the family thing.”_

_“That sounds… sad?”_

_“Productive. No distractions.”_

_Enjolras nodded slowly, then, trying to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t in control of this situation, not really. He was the one making the outrageous request, and Grantaire could--and maybe should--reject him at any moment. Any more of a pause, and Enjolras would have stalled the conversation an unreasonable amount. He took one last sip of his drink._

_“Well, then, to put it simply… if you’d like a bit more company than your cat, I’ve found myself in need of a date for my family’s events this year. I’d like it to be you.”_

_Grantaire almost spit out his coffee._

*

Really, it was the perfect plan. He’d told his parents about the boyfriend in October, and he had only told Grantaire in the middle of December. He had months to come up with an absolutely perfect plan, and he was sure he did.

There were many things that made Grantaire the best fit. He would be new to the family, his parents already having met most of the other Amis. He was generally free around the holidays, if his activity in their group chat was anything to go by. He had a thick skin, and could hold his own in an argument, both useful traits… And, more than anything, he was a good liar. 

There were a few weak links in the project, sure, but the biggest one--and probably always would be, no matter what project they were taking on--was Marius. He posed their biggest hurdle. He was possibly the worst liar any of them had ever met, and often cracked under pressure. And so, even if they were technically friends… Enjolras didn’t feel bad telling Marius a little lie. He’d inform Marius after Christmas, before he could make any comments to any of their friends, but not before he could out Enjolras as a liar in front of his parents.

With that in mind, he had to choose the most easily believable friend to date. Courfeyrac and Combeferre were out, obviously, as well as Joly and Bossuet. Most of their friends were other viable options, however. Feuilly was a strong candidate, considering how much Enjolras had been teased early on in their relationship about his “crush”... but that still came with questions. Why weren’t they flirty, or even affectionate? Why did the others not hear about them meeting up on their own, why didn’t they seem closer? 

All that considered, it wasn’t hard to narrow down Grantaire as the best choice. They didn’t flirt, sure, but they had a certain energy about them. Couldn’t their bickering be seen as flirting to the untrained eye? Marius would be too shy to ask clarifying questions. What if they had been together all this time, and he was just missing out on a bit of hidden sexual tension that all of their other friends had known about? He would be too afraid to mention it, hopefully even to Cosette. 

When Grantaire asked, those were the reasons Enjolras gave.

He would have liked to think that those reasons took him the full two months to come up with. After all, as soon as his father had asked for his boyfriend's name during that very first phone call in October, he had named Grantaire. 

*

“No, no, my aunt is the shitty politician in that one, her husband’s just in business.”

“Right, right, one less pill-popping housewife.” 

Enjolras gave Grantaire a sideways glance, his brow furrowed. “Though I feel like that’s based in some old misogynistic stereotypes, it’s close to true in this family.”

“And I wouldn’t have said it if it weren’t true, surely.” He let out another little hum, clapping his hands, carrying on the conversation before Enjolras could really scold him. “But she doesn’t even matter, does she? Not in the grand scheme of things. The big one is my grandfather, former minister of… something; you met Hollande and now you’ve gotten arrested four times.”

“Twice, and I’ve never been charged.”

“And that’s on cop daddy.”

“I won’t deny my privilege,” Enjolras said simply, letting the conversation drop for just a moment. “And what does my other father do?”

“Oh, fuck, right.”

“Grantaire.”

“Ah, right, he’s… he’s a politician as well, yeah?”

“He is.”

“Nice, right. He’s some sort of… minister?”

“Close, same letter. Mayor.” 

Grantaire paused for a long moment. “Mayor?”

“Of Paris.”

A long silence fell between the two of them, the only noise the quiet background music, fading into the sounds of city traffic. “I… should vote.”

“You don’t fucking vote?”

*

The first night had shocked even Enjolras. Though he was sure that his fathers would love Grantaire--they just didn’t want Enjolras to be alone, truly--he didn’t expect how much. 

That first night, they had chosen to stay at his parents’ place in Paris, just as a miniature dinner, before having to suffer through the extended family. It was just a little get-together, just the six of them. While the dinner at his grandparents’ would be fixed by their staff, it would be nice to have a little home cooked meal beforehand, to really introduce a new partner into the family. It was only polite, after all. 

Grantaire wasn’t expected to give gifts at the big dinner, but he had insisted he couldn’t come empty handed to this, even if it wasn’t for real. Enjolras had asked over and over again what was on the covered canvass Grantaire had loaded so gently into the back, and the artist had just laughed. When he finally yielded to Enjolras’ pressure, it was after they had finally parked outside of the family’s home, after just a few warnings. It hadn’t taken that long, he’d insisted, it was really something he had just whipped up in the few weeks since Enjolras had asked him to come, just based on one of the pictures he had on his phone of the twins… and so, Enjolras wasn’t sure what he was expecting when the cloth was lifted, and he saw a little glimpse of the painting. Grantaire stood, expression unreadable, as he looked back to Grantaire.

“You’re serious?”

Grantaire dropped the cloth, shrugging his shoulders as he removed the canvas from the backseat. “Only took about a week. They’re going to have to frame it, so, hey. That’s the hard part.” With that, and another, almost tight, smile cast towards Enjolras, he shut the door with his hip, stepping away from the car and up to the door.

“Oh, my, hello.” 

Grantaire almost shoved the canvas into Enjolras’ hands, letting his “boyfriend” chuckle as Grantaire moved to give his papa a side-hug, laughing as the older man kissed both of his cheeks. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

“You as well. Grantaire?”

“Raviv, please. All the guys just use our last names with the rest of the organization, and it’s a habit I’m still figuring out how to break in normal polite conversation,” he said, throwing a teasing glance over his shoulder to Enjolras. 

“Ah, no thanks to our Alexandre, I assume. Setting precedents everywhere, hmm?” He let out a soft chuckle. “I’m Jean, this is my husband Simon, it’s lovely to meet you.” 

For all he had warned Enjolras that he had never ‘met the parents’ before, Grantaire was a natural at small talk. Enjolras wasn’t trying to pull away, not yet, and Grantaire took that as his best sign to keep going, sparking up a conversation with Jean before he handed over the painting.

It wasn’t easy to think that Enjolras got much from his father. They were two intensely different people, and they always had been. While a bit of teen rebellion had always been normal, it had felt as if Enjolras had fought his father nightly, resenting the fact that he was a police officer. Other tension, other resentment, boiled underneath the surface, but what more could a thirteen year old express? As both of them grew and got to know each other better, things were no longer tense between them, and politics had been banned at the dinner table long ago, but it was still almost impossible to see how Enjolras could come from such a man. 

Of course, with both of them lingering in the entryway, standing awkwardly behind their respective partners, some similarities might have been evident. 

“So, ah,” Enjolras butt in as the conversation ran into a lull. It was incredible for Grantaire to see, someone who could commandeer crowds of people struggling to get a word in in the small talk, but he was slowly getting used to the flow, carving his place into the conversation. “Raviv brought you a gift.”

“Oh! Right, we would have just lugged this upstairs with us,” Grantaire said with a good-natured laugh, taking the canvass more than carefully from Enjolras, and unveiling it. Enjolras, positioned almost behind it, did a shuffle to peer over his father’s shoulder, before he was sure his heart absolutely sank to his stomach.

There, held by the corners by his boyfriend, who could look anywhere other than Enjolras, was the painting of himself and his twin. The detail was incredible, every brush stroke full of purpose, full of energy. He craned his neck to see the detail, not wanting to give the impression that this was his first time seeing it as well.

As his parents rang praises, Enjolras tried to shoot a reassuring smile back to Grantaire, though his eyes locked on the painting once more. He couldn’t even remember when this had been shot, how old the reference pictures were… he couldn’t remember the specific night, but it was like he was there, the painting was so realistic. Him and Cosette outside the Musain after a meeting, huddled under a street lamp as they talked and laughed animatedly. It wasn’t just a flat image, it was alive, he could feel the summer evening heat, the dampness underneath his feet from where it had rained earlier in the day… his heart pounded rapidly in his chest, and when he met Grantaire’s eyes once more, he just shrugged.

“Apollo and Artemis,” Grantaire stated simply, a smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes, which was mirrored on Enjolras’ own face.

Enjolras didn’t appreciate visual art as much as he could have, and he knew himself about this. He was separated from art, separated from that artistic process… but there was no way on earth that this painting could have been completed and varnished in even just a few weeks. Why had Grantaire lied?

Enjolras sat, stewing in silence for just a few more moments, before finally speaking up once more, breaking an otherwise comfortable silence. 

“Right, well. Cosette and Marius should be here in about twenty,” Enjolras supplied after a few moments, finally grabbing his suitcase from the floor and stepping up to Grantaire. As he let his hand rest on his boyfriend’s lower back, he felt the muscles tense under his touch, but ignored it easily. “We’re going to head up and get ready for dinner.”

“Right, right! I must be distracting you two, we’ll call you down when it’s ready. It’s lovely to meet you,” Jean assured again, a soft smile on his face that didn’t sit right with Enjolras, but almost thrilled Grantaire. 

After a few more quick hugs, and a few more whispered comments, they were released upstairs, the blond staying silent all the way.

It wasn’t until they had settled a bit that Grantaire spoke, not looking up from his phone, unthreatening. “So… they seem sweet.” 

“Just traditional. Did you see the way my papa’s eyes lit up? It won’t be long until he’s asking me when I’m going to propose.”

“Yes, quite traditional, the two dads are excited that their son is dating another man. Traditional.”

Enjolras’ eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look, I’d get it if you were Cosette and they were this excited you were bringing back a man, sure. That has like… connotations, shit like that. But are there really any connotations for you bringing back a guy?” He looked up from his phone then, up to Enjolras on the bed. “Like, I’m really not trying to criticize you, they’re your parents, you obviously know them better… but not everything has to be some giant statement, with politics behind it, yeah? Your dads might just be excited you have a social life.”

“It’s different, sure, but it’s still traditionalism. They’re still pressuring us.”

“Are they?”

“I’m not going to argue with you when you clearly don’t know what you’re talking about, Grantaire.”

“Okay, okay! I concede.” He laughed slightly, holding one of his hands up.

“That’s a first.”

Grantaire snorted out another little laugh. “I agreed to be polite, I’m not going to push anything much. I’m just saying.”

“And I’m stopping it.”

“Fair enough. Shall we see if dinner’s ready?”

*

Dinner, to their credit, was much less awkward than Grantaire thought it would be. Cosette had been informed of the plan in full, and while she encouraged her brother to just be honest, she didn’t make any plans against it. And, though she had pointed out it was manipulative and maybe even a little cruel, even she reluctantly agreed that it would be better to not tell her fiance about the plan. Marius had never been a good liar, and this would be no different. She couldn’t figure out why her brother had been so fixated, so focused on lying to their parents, but she knew if he was going to do it… Marius needed to stay away, unfortunately. 

The news had been broken to Marius ever-so-gently on the ride over, and he had enough time to let the news sink in for him to not act in shock, at least, to see Grantaire walk into the family’s kitchen like he belonged there, as, evidently, he did. 

He kissed Cosette’s cheek, asked Jean and Javert if there was anything he could do to help, more out of obligation than anything, but soon enough got pushed to the side with Marius, sitting down with the man as they watched the family flit about each other, a rehearsed dance taking place in the kitchen, even if the family no longer lived in the same home. They seemed natural together, a perfect routine without much communication, everyone taking on a role. 

“It’s kind of fascinating,” Marius said after a few moments, voice just low enough for Grantaire to hear, though neither of the men on the outskirts were sure that the family could be distracted. “My grandfather never helped cook when I was a kid, I don’t think he even stepped foot in the kitchen. It’s interesting to see them all together like this.” 

“They’re close,” Grantaire observed, a little dumbly, eyes still fixating almost solely on Enjolras.

“Yes, well. Let’s hope that one day we can mesh into that.”

That seemed to break Grantaire’s trance, and he let out a little huff of laughter, nodding his head. “I think that’s the dream.” And then, after a moment, “I’m sorry that we didn’t really tell you, but we didn’t really tell a lot of the guys yet.”

Marius shook his head then. “No, it’s quite okay.” He clicked his tongue. “We could tell, anyway. I’m just glad you two are starting to feel more comfortable now.”

Grantaire felt as if he was descending into madness as he looked back at Marius’ sunny smile.

*

Marius’ comment sat with Grantaire throughout dinner. It felt odd to keep it to himself, especially seeing how close Enjolras’ family was. While Grantaire was assured that it wouldn’t be like this at his grandparents’, that they all would scramble for their seperate rooms as soon as dinner was over and the family had an excuse to not see each other… it was nice to sit in the living room with the family, with the TV on in the back, and just talk.

Enjolras didn’t speak much about himself. When he did, it was always in the present tense. It was only since agreeing to fool his family that Enjolras had let Grantaire in on his past, and the artist was sure it was from necessity, rather than a genuine want… but, did that matter if Enjolras was pleased? 

When Enjolras first started talking about the family routine, Grantaire had been hesitant. And, in a stroke of divine luck, Enjolras had just smiled. He had been nervous too, he had said, at first. When they were first adopted, coming from such a dysfunctional environment, a family that spent time together at all seemed unbelievable, something that was only on television. Cosette and he were hesitant, had stuck to their rooms at first, had never wanted to interact with their parents. It had felt too good to be true, knowing that such kind people would look to them and want to treat them well… but the men just had to prove themselves. They weren’t threats, they never had been. Enjolras and Cosette warmed up quickly after that. 

Grantaire, however, hadn’t been so quick to warm up. His own grandmother had tried to foster that environment when she got custody of Grantaire and his sister, and she had, truly, but there had still been some awkwardness. That awkwardness still sat in his heart, the guilt that sat with unyielding and unrepentant love, but that might have just been within him.

It was odd to witness, then, the little family just living in the moment, having fun seeing each other together again, and slowly but surely inviting Grantaire and Marius into the mix more and more. Grantaire took a few photos that night, some of Enjolras laughing, some of the twins playing a game together, and one, in particular, of their parents smiling sweetly at them, Javert chatting with a fairly nervous looking Marius. 

When the night grew later, however, it was Jean that spoke up, clearing his throat as the conversation lulled. “Well, we’re heading to bed, then. You four try to head to sleep soon as well. It's quite a drive Alexandre, and you of all people don’t need to be driving sleep deprived--”

“I know, Papa,” Enjolras said quickly, pointedly ignoring Grantaire. He didn’t need to see the teasing grin.

“Well, just stay safe, okay? Your father can tell you that exhausted driving is just as bad as drunk driving, and you don’t make this drive alone often.”

“I know,” Enjolras said again, a little firmer, causing Jean to laugh. 

“Okay, okay. Goodnight, you guys. We’ll see you in the morning.” With a few more cheek kisses, they were gone, and Cosette and Marius followed behind them quick enough. 

Enjolras lingered downstairs, tidying some things up, not really wanting to go upstairs. That made sense, for several reasons. Seeing his extended family always stressed him out, as they had been historically cruel… but there was another, less precedented, stressor, that revealed itself to Grantaire as soon as they were upstairs.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Yeah.” 

“There’s only one bed.”

“Yeah.”

The silence hung in the air for a moment, before Grantaire let out a little laugh in spite of himself. “I knew something was up, earlier, I just couldn’t put my finger on it.” He chuckled still, crossing to room to go over to his bag, digging out a pair of rumpled pajamas. “I can sleep on the floor, I don’t mind. That little bean bag was quite comfortable, actually.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Grantaire, you’re a guest here.”

“Well, then… I snuggle.” 

A look crossed Enjolras’ face then, unreadable, and he just nodded. “We’ll see about that. Go get ready.”

That night, they slept in Enjolras’ childhood bed, pressed back to back so neither of them would roll out, both clinging the duvet to their chest, laying awake for much too long with the other’s presence in their bed.

*

Grantaire seemed to relax a little when the playlists he had made could be enjoyed in full, not just in little spurts between the noises of the thick Parisian traffic. Once they were a little further way from his parents, and didn’t have to lie, Enjolras seemed to relax as well, though the tension between his shoulder blades remained. It was a long trip, and though it took a while to lead up to the question, they still had to sit in awkwardness for a while after. It was a simple question, surely.

“So… that painting, wow.” Enjolras didn’t have to take his eyes off the road to know that Grantaire tensed as well, the atmosphere in the car changing, air becoming thicker.

“Oh, yeah. What about it?”

“Nothing, I mean, I’m just… thinking about it, it’s really good.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Of course.” A pause. “How long did that even take you, seriously? It’s so detailed, it’s amazing.”

And there it was. The hidden question, around the compliments… Enjolras was putting the pieces together. “Oh, right.” Another pause. “Ah… a week or so, like I said. You asked me like, at the beginning of the month, so probably a little after that. It didn’t take that long. Luckily, I have plenty of reference material,” Grantaire said, laughing off any seriousness that the conversation could have slipped into. 

Even if Enjolras insisted, Grantaire still laughed it off. It wasn’t a big deal! He’d pulled all-nighters to finish paintings before, he could pull off finishing that one quickly enough… and Enjolras would never be the wiser to the practical closet of paintings with him as the subject that were stored in the far corner of Grantaire’s studio, a shameful shrine. 

When the name of the hometown of Enjolras’ grandparents started appearing on the road signs, the tension started to grow in the blond’s shoulders even more, and he shifted in his seat. When they entered the town, Enjolras got more and more tense with every kilometer, until they ended up in the perfectly paved driveway of the estate. The garage was already full, Enjolras and Grantaire being some of the last ones to get there, already a bit into the evening considering how long their lunch along the way had lasted… there would be comments made about it, of course. 

Though they had never really been close friends, Enjolras was used to the way Grantaire acted by now. It had been a bit of forced assimilation, if he was entirely honest, but his and Grantaire’s personalities didn’t ultimately clash that much, until they did, and then it was irreparable. When Grantaire saw people get stressed, he would crack a joke. Realistically, Enjolras knew that. That didn’t mean, however, that he wouldn’t snap back at Grantaire. This was an effective system, until one of them took it too far, which always happened inevitably. 

Enjolras barely even processed what Grantaire had said before he snapped, and by then, it was too late. The man had been trying to joke, loosen the tension he was surely seeing in Enjolras… and the blond snapped.

There was a moment of silence in the car that hung between them, thick like tar, before Grantaire nodded his head curtly. “Alright. Let’s unpack that.” 

“Christ, there’s nothing to unpack, let’s just go inside.” As he reached to open the car door, his wrist was grabbed by the man in the passenger seat, which only served to rile him up more. “God, what?”

“What? You’ve been winding yourself up like a spring for the past thirty minutes of the drive, you’ve sprung now, let’s talk about why.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Look, I get it if you don’t want to talk about this with me of all people, I get it. But I’ve got family shit too, I can relate, yeah? If you’ll just tell me what’s up.”

“It’s just stressful.” Enjolras paused. “I’ve told you, they’re stressful.”

“Well, I think you handle stress better than anyone else in the group.” Seeing Enjolras’ grimace, Grantaire cut off the blond before he could speak again. “And, like… I don’t mean to brush off your feelings, that is incredibly valid. Family’s tough, it’s tough to feel so obligated to those people and shit, but you handle stress incredibly well. You’re an incredibly strong person, yeah?”

“I’m not worried about them not being strong, they’re just genuinely horrible people, Grantaire.”

“Okay, yeah. Rich white people suck, big news.” Grantaire shrugged, shifting a little in his seat to look at Enjolras, stretching his legs out after the journey. “And it’s still okay to be upset when people are dicks. Like, it sure is an upsetting thing when you see people actively like, discriminating against people. That’s why you aren’t going to let me wear the Hanukkah sweaters to dinner, yeah?” Grantaire tried to joke, though it was clear it still wasn’t really hitting. 

“Let’s just… Thank you,” he said, before sighing, clearly frustrated. “Let’s just go inside, okay?” With that, Enjolras finally opened up the car door, getting out without looking back at Grantaire. He was nervous, and though Grantaire had really tried… there wasn’t much that could make him feel better, at that point. He put a brave face up, like usual, and headed around the car to the trunk, lifting it open with a big breath, and trying to relax. Grantaire didn’t understand, as much as he claimed to. How could he?

*

Enjolras was resistant to saying he had “control issues”. That preyed upon the stereotype of a petty gay man, a catty person who had nothing better to do than mock people and try to control other’s lives. That wasn’t who he was! Enjolras liked to be in control of himself and his surroundings, sure, but he didn’t have to bend to stereotypes. 

That wasn’t to say, however, he didn’t have issues with control. Maybe that was why he had come up with this lie in the first place. Going into this alone, he had less control than if he was lying, it was simple. No matter how close they were, his parents had each other, and Cosette now had Marius… he had no one to fall back to. And, though his parents had threatened long ago that they would cut the family off if they kept being cruel to him and Cosette, it didn’t stop the rude comments, or the old pain from lingering. The lie gave him control over the situation, gave him that extra support to have that step above his grandparents. 

And, in the grand scheme of things, maybe these issues meant he didn’t make the best ideas. All things considered, Enjolras was a reasonable, rational person, who didn’t let most things bother him. He was critical, yes, but that meant he thought through everything that came in front of him, breaking everything down systemically, having the great power to think with both his heart and his mind. 

This did not mean, however, that he didn’t get upset. 

The scene in the car earlier had proved that. Enjolras didn’t like to act like that, to snap at people, to show that he was the weak one in the situation. Snapping at Grantaire had been the equivalent of rolling belly up in front of him, exposing his weakest points, and offering himself up for Grantaire’s judgement. It was almost painful, and the silence that grew between them was even more so. 

Enjolras had led the man through the manor, politely introducing the man to each group of family members he saw, though he was plucked thinner and thinner with every word he spoke. By the time they were in the room Enjolras looked absolutely exhausted, threadbare, and had to take a break in the bathroom just to refresh himself, and try not to have a complete breakdown on the first day they were there. Being raised the way he had been, no matter how long he had been with his adoptive family… showing weakness was a downfall. 

Grantaire, for the most part, had been supportive. Enjolras figured it was the tension between them, truly, that made him pull away as soon as they were away from family, sticking side to side instead of keeping his hand in Enjolras’.

The blond emerged from the bathroom about ten minutes later, the hair framing his face damp, having splashed water on it. “We can go down for dinner, if you’d like, but they’d forgive us for today if we just ate leftovers while we recover from the drive.”

Grantaire stared at the blond for a few moments, looking him up and down, before just nodding. “I… yeah, okay. Leftovers are good with me.”

“Is it? Good.” Enjolras nodded then, quick and succinct, going to take his place beside Grantaire on the bed. It was bigger than the one they had shared the night before, but in those moments, everything felt too small. 

“Good, yeah.” Grantaire nodded a little. “Do you want to like…. Talk? About it?” He paused. “Smoke?”

“No thanks. I have my own.”

“And here I thought you were quitting.”

Enjolras’ face softened at that, letting a little scoff. “And you were trying to let me smoke again?”

“Well, I’m offering to find something stronger,” he said with a chuckle. 

“I know. I brought weed, not cigarettes.” 

Grantaire startled at that, turning around on the bed enough to pull one leg up, completely facing Enjolras. “You brought what? Are you serious?”

“I… yes, of course I’m serious. You just offered some, you did as well.”

“I was joking!”

“Look, I really don’t need your judgement,” Enjolras said, getting defensive. 

“I’m not judging, I just… don’t know what’s up with you today.” 

“There’s nothing up with me!” 

“There obviously is! How many times have you practically screamed at me because what, I came to a meeting that I don’t even contribute to just a little high?”

“Firstly, this is entirely different! Entirely!”

“It’s not! If anything this is more important--”

“Why do you even fucking care, Grantaire? You didn’t want to do this, this is just fake, we’re barely even friends, why do you fucking care?”

“I don’t--” Grantaire broke off laughing at that, looking at Enjolras incredulously. “Fine, I don’t care. I don’t care! Where’s Cosette’s room? I don’t fucking care, Enjolras.” With one final huff, cutting himself off if he wanted to say anything more, he got off the bed, stormed out of his room, and into the hallway. If he didn’t care, Enjolras could deal with that himself. 

*

Grantaire looked like he smoked. Maybe not now, groomed up for a big family meeting… but curls crammed into a beanie, wrapped in an old hoodie, with three day stubble? It wouldn’t surprise anyone if Grantaire was the one that came to dinner with the smell lingering on his clothes.

At the big dinner, the first time he had really sat down next to Enjolras in that time they’d been at the manor, he didn’t smell weed. He had cocked an eyebrow when Enjolras had taken his hand to walk down to the dining room, and he didn’t catch a whiff of it, but it hadn’t really clicked until he saw Cosette, and saw how out of it she looked already. Though her brows crooked in concern when she saw her brother walk in, she spent most of her time sitting with a sated little smile, settled a little too far into the dining chair. And there Enjolras sat, sober as a judge, trying to avoid looking at Grantaire as much as he could and not seem suspicious. 

Dinner went on so normally, in Grantaire’s opinion, it was hard to notice when it started.

Enjolras wasn’t the most outspoken at dinner, but topics seemed to stray away from politics. Grantaire reflected with a smile that it was probably Enjolras that kept them from talking politics, and that he had struck the fear of god, the fear of Apollo, into them long ago. 

Grantaire didn’t notice when Enjolras stopped eating. He didn’t notice when Enjolras’ foot started tapping, or when his free hand started ringing the napkin in his lap, the other still clutching his fork tightly. He didn’t notice the sheen of sweat on the blond’s forehead, or even the concern from his sister across the table. She didn’t seem to be getting Grantaire’s attention.

When he finally came to realize something was wrong, it wasn’t from any signs from the twins. Across the table, not even from where he was looking, he heard a gruff old voice rasp “what’s wrong with him.” And when Grantaire finally looked, really looked, his heart sank. 

“Dear? Are you alright?” 

Grantaire nudged Enjolras easily with his leg, and tried to ignore the way Enjolras recoiled from the touch. “Oh, he’s fine. We’re both zoning out a little, an early morning.” He laughed, soft and charismatic, easily addressing the woman who spoke. “Please, continue, Miss Nathalie. We’ll listen well.”

No one believed them, it was evident on their faces, but it bought Grantaire enough time to pull out his phone, and shoot a simple message to Enjolras. He waited for a moment, before he nudged the man once more, and tapped his phone.

_You okay? -R_

_No -E_

_Should we leave? -R_

_No -E_ A pause.  
_Impolite -E_

Grantaire blinked a few times, incredulous, before nodding slowly, and slipping his phone between his thighs, just so he was sure he would be able to feel the buzz.

Time seemed to be clicking in slow motion, but as soon as one of his grandparents left the table, Enjolras stirred. His smile was strained as he explained that they really had   
had a long day, and though it seemed to chip off more and more at the jokes and comments about how some of the youngest were the first to get tired, he kept it on his face even as he practically ran off with Grantaire. 

This Enjolras before him was utterly unique. Grantaire processed in flashes, Enjolras rushing up the stairs and into their guest room, Enjolras sitting up straight on the bed with a hand on his stomach, looking like he was trying to focus his breathing, even if tears had started falling at that point. This Enjolras had experience with panic, he knew what to do, and it was utterly unique.

Grantaire wasn’t used to this. Enjolras was the strongest person he knew. Unrepentant, headstrong, always pushing forward… It was crude and closed-minded to think that Enjolras couldn’t be this one, experience these emotions, but it wasn’t what he had expected. He had seen the blond tear through a crowd to take down a fascist, a panic attack was the last thing he would place on this man. 

Grantaire stood in shock for just a moment as these thoughts came crashing in, before he nodded, and walked quietly to the bathroom, coming back a few moments later with a glass of water, placing it on the bedside table in front of Enjolras, before he waited. 

Though he had to help the blond with his breath a few times, it didn’t take long before Enjolras had stopped crying, at least. The man who actively campaigned for the dissolution of the traditional capitalist system couldn’t leave the table in midst of panic in order not to upset his extended family he saw once a year. A puzzle.

It took a while before Enjolras reached for the glass, and a while longer before he actually attempted to speak. Grantaire didn’t mind, either way. He was more concerned about how Enjolras was feeling. 

“When I-- Oh, god,” he mumbled, letting out a little laugh as he took another sip of water, tear stained cheeks plumping up as he cleared his throat. “The reason we didn’t go for a few years, when we were teenagers,” Enjolras tried to explain, “is that… I was thirteen, I was arguing with the world at thirteen, and I was arguing with my grandfather about something.” He took a little sip. “And my grandmother got tired of it, and she looked me in the eye, and she said ‘he’s only arguing because he knows he and that bratty little sister of his are never going to be part of this family anyway’.”

“Damn.”

A wry little smile turned on Enjolras’ lips. “When a few people defended us, someone else stepped in, and said… I won’t repeat it, but he called our mother one of the pejoratives for a sex worker, and said… that we deserved what happened to us, because she was a sex worker.” 

“Oh,” Grantaire whispered, looking up to Enjolras. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” 

“I’m… really sorry to hear that, Enjolras, that’s really harsh.” 

“It is.” Enjolras took a little sip of the water. “They’re cruel, close-minded people.”

“I… don’t see why your parents would still want you to come here.”

“It’s family,” he tried to explain. “They’re… older. My parents are… more traditional, like I said. Not just about me dating, about everything.”

“Oh. Right.”

“They’re good people. Just… traditional. And sometimes, it’s better to show a brave face, and save face, than show your weakness there.” 

Grantaire nodded slowly. “I… don’t mean to criticize you--”

“That’s generally what a person hears before they’re about to be criticized--”

“I just… you’re the least traditional person I know, Enjolras, really. I swear, you are, it’s… impressive, almost. You have genuinely beautiful, progressive ideas, you want the world to be such a bright and beautiful place… I just wouldn’t expect you to be this loyal to anything other than… I don’t know. The vague concept of a revolution, of a motherland,” he tried to joke, but there was still concern knitted between his brows.

And Enjolras had to laugh, still. “That’s not… me, Grantaire. It’s not. I’m not some Nechaeyevian revolutionary, you know? I’m not casting aside the people I love, I still care about people, I’m not just… some heartless machine only devoted to this. If the time comes for it, I could be, but… we’re not in those times. I can still love my friends, and family, I don’t have to live a life of loveless abstinence to help the revolution. I can still love my family, my fathers, and put up with this so not to cause strife.”

“It’s just… this just isn’t what I expect from you, I suppose.”

“Well, I’m sorry, then, but--”

“It’s not bad! No, it’s… absolutely lovely, I suppose, I just didn’t expect it.”

“Lovely?”

“To know that for once in your life, you’re finally a little chill?”

“You don’t… you still don’t understand.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain this, I’m sorry.”

That night, even in the big guest bed, they slept pressed against each other. Back to back, and then head to chest, getting closer and closer each time that Enjolras woke up in the night. 

When he woke up the next morning, Grantaire wasn’t there. There was a simple text on his phone, saying that he’d woken up a little early, and had gone to the garden to drink his coffee, but didn’t want to wake Enjolras. 

If the bed was cold without him, Enjolras wouldn’t mention it.

*

After breakfast, Enjolras’ fathers pulled him aside. They had let him have the night before to decompress, but he knew they would eventually want to talk about it, and he had been dreading it all morning. His method of self-medication may not have been the healthiest, sure, but it allowed his fathers to see the people in the family that they didn’t absolutely despise, and weren’t horrible people. 

And, after just a little talk, they decided to leave early. It was for the best of everyone, really, they had decided, trying desperately to make it seem like it wasn’t Enjolras’ fault. The silence upon the family as soon as Enjolras stepped into the room to get their breakfast was unsettling, and Enjolras came back into his and Grantaire’s room soon after the conversation with his parents, still a little downtrodden as he tossed Grantaire a banana for breakfast.

He waited until Grantaire took his first bites before he spoke again. “So,” he said lightly, taking a little sip from his water. “What was that?”

“What?”

“This morning, when you weren’t in here.”

“Oh.” Grantaire took another bite then, nodding as he did, letting the silence linger a bit. “I woke up a bit early, I guess, thought I’d take a walk around the garden again, I took some pictures.”

“Oh, right.” A pause. It was awkward, almost tangibly so. “My parents are telling my family that we’re leaving a day early, so we’re actually going to head back up to Paris this evening.”

“That’s… probably a good idea.”

“Most likely, yeah.” There was another pause. “Do you want to stay the night at my parent’s again, or go get dropped off at your apartment?”

“I mean… my apartment’s not a bad drive from your parent’s, you know?”

“You don’t want to stay the night, then?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Grantaire huffed, finishing off his banana, and shifting a little uncomfortably on the bed. “It’s not that I don’t want to, I…” There was another pause, with nothing else to fill it. It was awkward, he was floundering a little to think of something, before finally just letting out another little laugh. “Honestly, it’s fine. What’s one more night?”

Enjolras watched him. He was sure there was something wrong with Grantaire. He couldn’t put a finger on it, right now, but it was there. Every conversation they were having was more and more tense, things feeling more and more awkward every time Grantaire shifted away from him, every time he winced when Enjolras touched him. 

“Right, then. We’ll be on our way.”

If anything, leaving was worse than arriving. Each time a relative cast a concerned look at him, Enjolras felt like he was dying inside, choking again, needing to escape. Grantaire’s limp, clammy hand in his was more of a stressor than a relief, nothing like he had thought this would be. Were they not friends, after all? Had Enjolras just invited someone that barely cared for him, an acquaintance, only assured by the wine? That wasn’t it, and his friends had assured him it wasn’t it… but Enjolras gripped Grantaire’s hand to the point where the blond was sure he was causing the other man pain, just to get a reaction. A wince, in Enjolras’ mind, was better if it was caused on purpose, not a subconscious reaction to them touching.

Barely a word was exchanged between them, and when it was clear they wouldn’t talk much, Enjolras shut his car door a little harder than he needed. The music, for seven hours, was a little louder than necessary, and it was clear Grantaire was unbothered. 

*

That night, pressed spine to spine in Enjolras’ childhood bed, the two stuck close, deep in thought. Why had Enjolras thought this would work? Why had he thought that having a friend with him would make his family any less harsh? It wasn’t the family that was the issue, it was what they had said in the past. They censored themselves now, for everyone’s good, but Enjolras still felt nauseous around them.

Still, even if the two of them were stressed, he had to try and stay positive. At the very least, at least his fathers wouldn’t be as suspicious, and start leaving him alone about dating. 

That one bright side, however, was quickly taken away when his papa pulled him aside after breakfast. He assured him everything was fine, of course, but things seemed a little off. Was everything okay, he had asked, you and Raviv seemed stressed… and, without meaning to, Enjolras saw red. To his credit, he was sweet with his papa, raising no eyebrows until he stepped away from the conversation, and stepped outside into the garden, where he was assured Grantaire had popped off to. 

As soon as he saw Grantaire, he stalked over, practically growling. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Grantaire fumbled in shock, almost dropping his phone, looking up at Enjolras from his place on the stone bench. “Uh, can you… expand on that?”

“Can you? What the hell have you been up to, this entire trip? I asked you to do one thing, one, and you couldn’t, really?”

“What are you even--”

“My papa just had to have a heart to heart with me about our relationship, Grantaire, because he saw you couldn’t stand to touch me! It’s been like this all week, what the hell is your problem?”

“Listen, Enjolras…”

“No, you listen!” Enjolras cut him off in another harsh whisper, glowering down at the man. “You’ve been acting strange all week.”

“I don’t see how.”

“You don’t? Jesus, you’ll barely stand within arm’s length of me, you try to get out of holding my hand almost as soon as we’re together, you hardly fucking spoke to me in the car, what the hell else am I supposed to think?”

“Enjolras, you have no idea--”

“I do, I--”

“Stop fucking interrupting me!” Grantaire stood then, phone neglected on the bench as he huffed himself up, not breaking eye contact. Though the blonde still practically towered over him, Grantaire backed him up, fiery glare focused directly on Enjolras, staring into his soul. 

“Look, I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, holding his hands up. He wasn’t often the one to step away from a fight, but there were times it seems necessary. In all of his anger, he held back. He knew what their fights were like, and he knew that if his family witnessed one, it would blow the cover completely. “It just seems… fake.”

Grantaire scoffed. “Really, me pretending to date you feels fake?”

“It feels like you’re having to fake being able to stand being close to me, yes.”

“I’m not faking, Enjolras, listen… I…” There was another pause. “I like hanging out with you, of course I do, this is just…” He trailed off. 

“Then why does it feel so forced?”

"Because this is fake, everything about this is fake!” He huffed, raking a hand through his hair. “This isn't who I am, this isn't who you are, or you want to be. It’s a lie, end of story. It’s all fake.”

“Of course it’s fake, you agreed to this.”

Grantaire let out another grunt of frustration, turning away from Enjolras for just a moment. “I know I agreed… I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry to have made some things suspicious, I just thought it would feel more… real, but this hasn’t, it’s just been a slap in my face at this point.”

“Real?” Enjolras paused, letting his eyes graze over Grantaire’s face, scrutinizing every detail. “Then… be real, with me, show me something real.”

He had been challenging Grantaire, of course, even if he swore to himself he was backing down from the argument... But how couldn't he challenge that, that notion? Of course it was fake, they had been acting... But wasn't there a flavor of truth in every performance? An actor can't commit to a part unless there is some truth, some of their personhood, inside of the role. And what had Grantaire been committing? There were times over the past few days he couldn't even stand to look at Enjolras, let alone touch him like a real partner would. Grantaire was committing nothing, and he had the nerve to scold Enjolras about realism?

Enjolras didn't know what he was expecting. A lecture, maybe, on how horrible he was, about how Grantaire couldn't stand to even consider the possibility of a real relationship with him. 

He was about to start speaking again, reaching out to point a finger at him in accusation, before it was crushed, curling between them. Grantaire had surged forward, grabbed Enjolras’ face, pressing a kiss to his lips.

It was over before Enjolras could process, the firm hands on his face and gentle pressure on his lips making his head spin.

It felt like they were frozen in time for a few incredibly long seconds before Grantaire’s hands fell from his face. Almost immediately, Enjolras’ skin felt cool, languished in the absence, longing for the touch. 

“I…” Grantaire trailed off, speechless. “I… yeah. I’ll go, then, I--” Grantaire pulled away, quicker than Enjolras figured he would, the blond barely having time to reach out and grab his hand before Grantaire sprint towards the house, away from Enjolras.

“No, wait, no way in hell.”

“Enjolras, please.” Grantaire’s voice dipped, almost silent in the middle, as he looked anywhere but the other man. “Please, don’t, this is just me being dramatic, I shouldn’t have done that, I regret it, it’s fine, just let me go, and we never speak of it again.” He spoke quicker and quicker, ranting and raving as he tried to pull away.

“Of course we should talk about this!”

“Enjolras, I…” Grantaire hesitated for another moment, before shaking his head, attempting to tug his hand back once more. “That was stupid, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, okay? I…” Enjolras was incredibly eloquent. He was an incredibly talented speaker, and he knew exactly what to say to express his needs. And yet, when Grantaire was in front of him like that… his mind went blank. “Can I kiss you again?”

Why Grantaire was there had ceased to matter. Fiction and reality intertwined as they pressed their lips once more, melting against one another.

At that moment, the only thing that felt natural to Enjolras was Grantaire, the warm hand cupping the back of his head as they moved against each other. When they broke apart, they lingered, the two of them shocked into a stunned silence for the first time. They spoke soon enough, apologies, reconciliations on their tongues as they found their way back to the stone bench, thighs pressed together as the cold seeped into their bones. 

*

While they had entered as two people, they had left as one. This change had gone seemingly unnoticed by his fathers, even with Cosette’s side-eyes at them over the dinner table. And, still, the lie was ever prominent on Enjolras’ mind, even if it took a few weeks after they had left to really hear about his relationship. His parents had only mentioned Grantaire a few times in their calls, with nothing to overtly suggest they had been aware of the ruse. 

Despite any lingering anxiety he had figured he had gotten away with it completely, until he woke up one morning with a simple text on his phone: _You’re in big trouble._

Enjolras’ stomach dropped. Realistically, he told himself, it was fine. He was an adult, he could handle getting caught in a lie by his parents. He feigned innocence still, asking what was wrong, taking a deep breath as he carefully put his phone down on the bed, face-down, only picking it up once more as he felt the buzz. 

_Your father and I just finished getting the painting framed. It looks great, don’t worry, but do you know what we found?_ There was a pause, and then his second message came in. _Do you know what date was on the verso? Almost two years ago! And you just introduced us now! You’re in big trouble the next time we see you!_

Enjolras couldn’t believe his eyes. Two years? Grantaire had completed that painting almost two years ago, before they had started to make up, before they had started to become friends. Practically as long as they’d known each other! They had discovered that day in the garden they had both been pining, sure, but that was different. As Enjolras put his phone to sleep, something clenched in his heart that he couldn’t explain. 

And, after just a few more moments of contemplation, Enjolras just smiled, sinking back down in his bed, and tucking his head back against Grantaire’s bare chest. He could ask about it in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is the first thing I've completed/posted in a LONG time so I'm really still rusty (oof) but my Les Mis sideblog is https://legmiserable.tumblr.com/ ! 
> 
> (＠＾◡＾)


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